8 posts tagged “depression”

I was looking through my stuff from last year and found this, but couldn't find it on my blog anywhere. Do tell me if you've seen it before and I will take it down. I like not being manic depressive anymore :)

Take me. Take all of me. Pick me up and put me in a box. Snap the lock closed and throw away the key. I have seen the world and I have seen too much. There is war out there, and famine, and illness. There is pain out there, and there is too much pain for me to bear. I need to sleep now. I have to close my eyes and forget. How can I bear to go on otherwise? There is so much beauty in this world, and there is so much pain.

Will you help me?

No, what am I saying.

No-one can help me now.

I have seen too much, and now I understand.

They see the war on their television screens every day and they turn away.

They hear of children dying every minute and they shut their ears and talk of something else.

Once, I cried because of this; but now I understand. There is too much suffering, and we have to turn away because otherwise we cannot live. We would break. We would die. And so we turn away, and pretend that everything is good in our lives.

 

Don’t tell me what to think. I have a mind, I can decide for myself. I need to know, but I will find out myself. I need to make my own mistakes. Give me more air, I’m suffocating.

 

I’m not a caterpillar any more. It’s not enough just to eat and to exist and to believe.

I covered myself in this sticky net. I hid myself away in my own mind and nobody can really see me anymore. Who am I? I don’t know. I am sleeping. For now, I am just safe. I am learning, slowly. One day soon I will be forced to come out, to be strong, to make my own way. Hopefully when I break free from my cocoon I will discover I have wings, and finally I will be able to fly.

 

Adolescence is a difficult period. It is a time when you discover who you really are, and who you want to be.

 

Death is one of the harder things to learn. How do you reconcile yourself to the fact that one day you will simply not exist any more? Some people tell their selves pretty lies about heavens full of angels and eternal bliss. But I am a scientist. How can I ignore the barely concealed flaws in their stories?

 

I lie on the floor, hands buried deep in my dogs’ silky fur. I can feel their heartbeats within their ribs. They are so tiny, so fragile. Yet they trust me so completely that they fall asleep tucked under my chin each night. They trust me with their lives, and I love them so much that sometimes I think my heart is about to explode with the joy of it. This is why I live, and this is why we fear death – because we miss the love, the warmth, the friendship.

We should never try to lessen the impact of death by trying to love less. If we do, then what is the point in living? Life is beautiful. It is full of laughter and joy, rainbows and mountains and cold misty mornings. Running so hard you think you’re flying. Warm hugs and paintings and music. They say, live every moment as if it is your last. I don’t think you should. Would everything then be tainted with haste and bittersweet longing? Just live every moment as if you were a dog. Live it with everything you have and love it with more than that.

What experience or moment in your life have you learned the most from? 
Submitted by AngieK. 

Experience ... well I think I'll have to say my depression in year 7 was a very defining time of my life. I think that coming through that has helped to make me the person who I am today. Just getting to understand how a mental illness works from the in-side-out was a very valuable experience.
I think sometimes you need to experience the loss of something to understand what you have. During that time, things began to fade ...
I forgot about the future, and about the past. Not in any dramatic amnnesia-type sense, but they just slowly lost any sort of importance. The only thing that mattered was the present. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep. School was unthinkable, too big, too loud, too full of faceless people. People who just couldn't understand me. What I didn't think about was the fact that for the disconnection to be so profound, two parties were to blame ... I forgot about other people, in a way. I no longer tried to see the world from their perspective. When my parents dragged me screaming and crying from my bed, in my mind it was cruelty, not love. They wrapped me in a blanket and physically heaved me into the car, because otherwise I would have run away. They put the childlock on so I couldn't open the door, and they drove ...
I looked on the psychologist with scorn. Her office was full of stuffed animals and her affectedly reassuring voice told me to do daft things. "Draw a house with these crayons," she said. She feigned peaceful acceptance but I know she was taken aback that my house was surrounded by flowers and light. But the world was still beautiful, you understand. Perfectly calm, perfectly wonderful. Everything was fine. It's just that people wouldn't leave me alone. "Make a story," she said, and showed me cards with drawings on. I told her that there was a girl in the room, and she was afraid because she thought there was a monster behind the door. But one day the door was opened, and there was the creature ... but it was no monster. He was frightened of her and he was just trying to hide. And she talked to him, and they became friends. The cards, I informed her, were utterly ridiculous and completely uninspiring. I told her she should get a new set that were somewhat more interesting. Again the hasty trained mask, but I could see that she was taken aback. Had she not expected me to have a mind and will of my own? And my parents talked with her, and they discussed my future, and it was not what I wanted to hear. I cannot remember te conversation, but I remember enough to realise that my mother must have been on the verge of tears. I did not realise that, at the time. The, they were just my captors, and I loved them at the same time as I hated them with a desperate passion. And they were saying these things, and I cried, and I hid under the chair and I held on and I would not let go because it was my shield from their words which were cutting me like knives.
I hated it, in the institution. I cried myself sick. They let me keep my books, but they had taken everything else ... shoelaces and plastic bags (in case I tried to kill myself), my parents, my life. I got used to it I think, after a time. It was so monotonously, endlessly boring. I took all the playing cards off the shelves and sorted them. There were three uno packs. I tried sorting them half a dozen different ways, and with these little things, with this order and control, I was in a way contented. In art I made a cirlce pattern, full of complex swirls and lines. There were no scissors, and the protractors were blunt plastic. Just in case. People were amazed with my artistic skill. I didn't want their recognition. I wanted to be left alone.
There were other girls there, most a few years older than I was at the time.
Walking up the stairs, she asked me "Are you ok?" I thought about it for a while.
"No," I replied. She smiled a little.
"Fair enough. None of us are, I guess. Otherwise we wouldn't be here."
I was never told anything about them, but their stories unfolded before me nonetheless. "I threw up in the shower ... I'm sorry ..." "And you haven't been pulling your hair out so much, either! It's started to grow at the back, I'm so proud of you!" Little snippets of conversation, little glimmers of other people's lives. And wothout the labels, I got to know them as people. Individuals like me, with hopes and dreams and fears.
"You've been here for a long time. You're much better. We think we have to send you home."
"No, no, please! Please don't send me home! I'll die there, don't make me, he'll kill me! Please!"
The peaceful conversations were more numerous, but of course the words fade. I remember one though. I was in the kitchen. She asked me, "Why are you spinning around in circles?" But she saw my smile, a rare thing, and she understood. "It just makes you feel happy, doesn't it?" and I nodded.
They were nice. They were all nice. And understanding, and accepting. They were like normal people, but with their eyes and hearts open ... and with some problems. But who doesn't have problems, really? Little phobias, strange habits, obsessions and depressions ... some more, some less, everyone affected.
I know a lot of people who could be considered "abnormal" in some way. But so much of the time these people are better off than the "normal" people, because they have compassion and a love for life and other people that is truly special. And that is what it is to be human. What it should mean to be human.
What I lost most of all during that time of my life was people. So now ... now I can more fully appreciate them. Oh, and how I do! the love I have for my friends and my family is the solid foundation on which I have rebuilt my mind. Life is beautiful. There are still flowers around my house, and benevolent "monsters" still lurk in my cupboard. But this time there are people there as well. People with minds of their own, who see the world in a very different way to me. And I love them, and I know that they love me. And there is a past stretching behind me, full of memories nd experiences to learn from. And there is a future stretching before me, and it is bright and full of possibilities.

And just a thought can set my heart pounding. I feel it shaking through my body like fear.
I breathe harder and I try so hard to conceal it, as if it is a weakness to hide away from others.
My palms sweat and I wipe them hastily against my thigh.
These are my stigmata. This is the sound of silent tears.
Each day I stand among you, one of the masses, part of the crowd. You cannot see me, although sometimes I wonder why you cannot hear my heart beating so loudly agaist my eardrums.
Ba doom, ba doom, ba boom.
It is the sound of fear
The sound of a desperate longing
It is the sound rocking me to hard-won sleep.
But then the dreams come. They scream at me, tear at me; hungry beasts ripping at the fabric of my mind, exposing the bones, and they can never let me heal. I am raw and bleeding and there is no respite in a world of cruelty and lies.
I wake. There are tears on my cheeks but I do not own them. I can never cry. So I walk away. I pick myself up and I walk, and around me the world is changing.
I see flowers. I hear birds. I feel grass beneath me feet. And slowly, inevitably, I soften. The jagged edges of my world gently blunt themselves against the summer air. I sit. I watch. I listen. And for a time, I feel safe. I build myself a little everywere, and I let your voices reach me, and the nightmares see the light and flinch away.
I walk again. My heart is beating still, always beating, urging me on. I can never stay for long. The drums of my existance, beating in my veins.
Ba doom, ba doom, ba doom.
It is the sound of laughter
The sound of joyful dancing
It is the sound I hear when you walk into a room, and I am happy.
And then the dreams come. But I awake, and I do not remember. There are tears on my face, but they are not mine. I do not own them, for I can never cry.

You know how much the injustices of life pain me. You see the scars they leave in me.
But you also know how much the beauty of life uplifts me. You see me smile every day. You hear me laugh and joke and see me dance with the sheer glory of it all.
Call me bipolar. I know I do. But I don't want to take the Lithium of normality, of 'sanity'.
Sometimes I do wish for an impassive indifference to the suffering of the world. Who wouldn't? I wish I could take the highs of life and live in that state of blissful effervescence forever. But somehow, I don't think that it would be possible to care so much about the joys without caring about the pain. They are somehow inextricably linked.
So I must go on as I have been going, I suppose. I adore people's kindness and revel in life one day, then dispair in their cruelty and wish for a peaceful oblivion the next.

They say one must never say never. Perhaps it is possible to change. Today, life is beautiful. It is not perfect, but I look around and I cannot help but smile at the charming vitality of it all. If I can just maintain this state - not ignoring the flaws, but simply focusing on the sublime artistry of life around me - perhaps life will be brighter for a little longer this time. I can hope.
I am incredibly lucky - I have you guys. No matter how black my days get, I always adore you. I hope you know that. When you are there, there is always beauty and kindness in my world.

I also wanted to share my psychology storybook, which is what I drew a lot from in my english SAC which I posted yesterday.

 

Voices everywhere, laughing, shouting. Bodies forced together, squeezing, pushing, shoving. Smells of cheap perfume, overpowering deodorant and sweat.

Julie bowed her head against the overwhelming mass of sensations. She held her breath and tensed her muscles as she forced her way through the crowd, feeling others doing the same. Here. Her locker. She turned the combination of the lock and opened the door, quickly snatching at a book that threatened to slip out onto the floor. Hastily she shoved in the books she was holding and pulled out the ones she would need next, then slammed the locker closed and made her way back through the crush of bodies and into open air.

 

Julie was new to North Amerdale Secondary College. For the last 12 years of her life she had lived in Perth with her family. She had been happy, and she had two good friends, Amy and Sarah. Then her father had been offered a job in New South Wales, they had moved, and her life was turned upside down.

 

‘The Ancient Egyptians worshipped many gods. Amun, King of the gods; Ra, god of the sun; Isis…’

Julie tuned out and slumped back in the uncomfortable grey plastic chair. Who cares what the Ancient Egyptians worshipped? She thought. It all seemed so…useless. Irrelevant. Boring. She started doodling in her book. Notes on the river Nile were soon buried under swirls and dots and stars.

‘Julie!’ Her head snapped up as she finally realised the teacher had been talking to her.

‘Um…what was the question?’ The teachers glare and a few snickers made her cheeks glow.

‘I said, who was Anubis?’  He growled.

‘He…um…uh…’ she stammered.

‘Pay attention, Julie.’ Snapped My Grey, and turned away. Julie slumped back in her seat, embarrassed. The other kids smiled and turned from her too. It’s not like any of them pay attention. She stared at her paper. Suddenly, a loud BING, BING, BING cut through the sound of many muffled conversations and sent everyone grabbing for their books.

‘Wait!’ shouted Mr Grey. ‘Don’t forget to take notes on the website I told you!’ A few people mumbled their assent, then everyone rushed to the door. At least when nobody sits next to me I don’t get tripped up, thought Julie, as she too left the room.

 

‘Hey Neo! I’m home!’ she called as a big tan dog raced to greet her, barking in excitement. ‘Yes, I’m happy to see you too!’ she laughed as two huge paws hit her shoulders and her face was thoroughly washed.

Neo was a German Shepherd-cross who they had adopted from a shelter in Perth two years ago. Unlike Julie, the move hadn’t phased him much, though he didn’t like the fact that he was alone all day now, since both Julies parents worked and she had school.

Julie pushed him off her and kissed his head.

‘Wanna go for a walk?’ she asked. The already hyped up dog started running in circles in his excitement. She knew she shouldn’t get him this worked up, but seeing him happy was the only fun she had these days. She grabbed his lead and ball.

 

‘Nobody talks to me at school.’ She confided. ‘They all have their friends. They don’t like me. I wish we’d never moved. I miss Amy and Sarah.’ Neo flashed her a happy doggy grin and went back to sniffing. Julie smiled. It was amazing how Neo could always make her feel better, even though he never understood a word. His joy in life was just infectious. \the grass crunched slightly under her feet, dry after a hot summer. Warm air blanketed her as she strolled slowly past tall eucalypts. She heard insects chirping. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath that smelled of warmth and plants and open space. If only her whole day could be like this, everything would be just fine.

 

Stray leaves tickled her back as she leaned against the tree. A stout green bush separated her from the warm, black, ugly asphalt where boy and girls shouted and called out, some running, some hitting balls, most just milling around. It had been like this since the first day of year 8. She had no-one to talk to, nothing to do. She sat down. Riffling through her diary, she found a spare piece of paper. She began folding it absently.  She remembered Amy teaching her last year how to fold a paper crane. The memory brought a smile to her lips. After many false starts, she got it right, and a slightly wonky and disproportioned paper crane sat in her hands. She smiled at her handiwork, pleased that she could remember how to do it. She looked for another piece of paper, and found one. This crane looked much better. As she looked up, a pack of girls from her class walked past. They glanced at her out of the corners of their eyes.

‘What a weirdo,’ she heard one say.

‘Totally.’ another agreed. The other girls all giggled. They rounded the corner of the building and were gone. Julie looked at the crane in her hands. She imagined its paper face staring back. Weirdo.

 

‘Julie! You got a D on your maths test?!’ her mothers voice. Loud, shocked, disappointed. Julie stood across the room. She stared fixedly at a black spot on the kitchen tiles. ‘Why did you get a D? You’re always such a good student!’

Julie continued to stare.

‘Julie!’

‘I don’t like the teacher. He’s really boring.’

‘That’s not an excuse! If you tried, you would do well! I expect better of you, Julie.’

Julie turned and walked away, mind seething. She climbed the stairs to her room and flopped onto the bed. At least it wasn’t new and crappy like everything else in her life had become. She stared out the window, but didn’t see trees. She saw the maths testing front of her, and felt that sinking feeling in her gut as she knew she’d done badly. Saw sheets of work being handed to her with marks worse than she’d ever received. The look on teachers faces when she made her excuses for homework not done. The look on her mothers face. Disappointed. Her gut churned. She hated making her mother unhappy. More images flashed past. The look on peoples faces when they saw her. Blank or confused, mostly. Who is this stranger? Mocking expressions on the faces of those who did know her. Those who laughed at her. She heard them often, when her back was turned. The weirdo. The silent girl who sat alone, who did nothing but stare while the others talked and joked with their friends. That’s who she was, who she’d always be. The weird one. The odd one out. She had never felt so alone.

The bed dipped as Neo leapt up beside her and sniffed her face. He lay down and she wrapped her arm around him and held him close. He cared. He did. She closed her eyes and the images came back, of a world where she could never fit in. Nobody else cared. No-one.

‘I hate them, Neo.’ She whispered into his neck. ‘I hate them all.’ And a single, glistening tear drop fell onto his fur.

 

‘Julie?’ Her mother called. Julie walked into the living room, where her mother was leaning back on the sofa, magazine in hand.

‘Yes?’ She asked.

‘I was thinking. Why don’t you do something after school? I’m sure you’d enjoy it.’

‘But I don’t want to.’ Julie stated bluntly.

‘Come on.’ Said her mother plactatingly. ‘How about sport? Or drama? There are plenty of things around if you look.’

Julie raised her eyebrows and started to turn away.

‘How about you do something with Neo? He’s been bored at home.’

‘Like what?’

‘I’ll have a look, if you would be prepared to do it. Would you like to do something with Neo?’

‘Mm.’ Julie mumbled a non-committal assent.

Her mother looked at her over the top of her reading glasses.

‘I’ll have a look.’

 

It was three nights later when her mother brought it back up.

‘Julie, there’s a dog agility club near here that runs on Saturday mornings. You know agility, with the jumps and tunnels and things?’

‘Yes, mum, I know.’ She said, slightly annoyed by how little her mother thought she knew.

‘Well, do you want to?’

Julie thought about it. Then the thought about Neo, and the answer came.

‘Yes, OK.’

 

Little terriers, rough collies, staffies, border collies, kelpies, all sorts of dogs everywhere. Julie watched a black poodle being directed over a raised plank and into a tunnel, which it did with abundant exuberance. Neo strained on his leash, making it a struggle to hold him. His bark joined a chorus of barks from other dogs at the sidelines. An instructor in a fluorescent yellow jacket approached her with a smile.

‘First timer?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Replied Julie, as Neo jumped gleefully at the instructor. She thumped his side and grinned at her.

‘Beginners’ class starts in 10 minutes, when the advanced people have finished. You sign up at that table with the other newbies. I’m Beth. What’s your name?’

‘Julie.’ Said Julie. ‘And this is Neo.’

‘Hello, Neo. Well, I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later.’ She walked away, still smiling. Julie couldn’t help but smile too. She walked over to the table to sign up and pay, then watched the last of the advanced classes. There was one girl her own age with a pretty tri-coloured Shetland sheepdog. Julie watched as they ran over a see-saw, over 3 jumps and through a tunnel. They were fast and accurate.

‘Could you do that, Neo?’ she asked her dog, who had calmed down a little and was now sitting and staring out at the other dogs.

The girl popped a treat into her sheltie’s mouth and walked over to the side. She saw Julie and walked over.

‘Hi…nice dog. I haven’t seen you here before.’ She said in a friendly voice. Neo began straining on his leash, trying to get closer. The girl obligingly stretched out a hand for him to sniff. ‘You  look kind of familiar. Do you go to my school?’

Julies eyes widened in recognition.

‘Oh yeah! I’ve seen you around.’

‘That’s cool. Anyway, you’ll love agility. It’s awesome fun. My name is Liz, by the way.’

 

The following Tuesday, Julie was meandering aimlessly around the school, trying to kill time until the bell went. Someone had dropped a pile of books on her head in the locker bay that morning, and her head still hurt where the corner of a book had hit her. As she was rubbing it absently, she saw Liz walking down the corridor with three other girls, talking about something. She smiled uncertainly at her. Liz noticed her and grinned broadly.

‘Hey!’ she called. Julie’s small smile was replaced by a real one.

‘Hi.’ She said.

‘Do you think dogs are cooler than guys?’ she asked suddenly. Julie was a little surprised by the question, obviously something to do with the conversation that had been going on, but said,

‘Dogs, definitely. They shut up when you tell them to, and they’re much cuter.’

‘Ha.’ Liz grinned and the other girls smiled. ‘I win. It’s three to two, Sandry.’ The girl called Sandry shook her head, and they turned to go.

‘Catch you later, Julie.’ Liz called.

Julie was a bit shocked. Well, she thought, that was a first. Maybe not everyone hates me…

 

 

 

Well I guess I'll type up my SAC. I want to edit it but I frankly can't give a shit at the moment. So ignore my tedious game of "how-many-adjectives-can-you-fit-into-a-sentence-before-you-drive-someone-insane" and stupid Garnerish techniques.
People told me "it was good", but that's just because I borrowed some of the song (like sentences or flow only - I don't know, I just take the taste of them and shove 'em in) from my previous works, where I actually had emotion and plot.

Statement of intention:

My imaginative piece was inspired by the idea of not belonging [that was what is called a white lie. It was actually inspired by all 3, but then I went back and re-read the criteria and it said "choose one"]. I drew more from the picture, a figure darkened and alone. I wrote in the first person present tense in order to be able to explore the thoughts of the character more deeply. I wrote this piece in order to explore my own thoughts about homosexuality, love and depression. Because of this, it may appear somewhat disconnected - it is not so much a narrative as a series of emotions [another white lie, but it sounds ok :P] I used trees to represent Allie's own thoughts [I didn't mention all the other metaphors and techniques, but I probably should. I won't now, you're all intelligent people.] I purposely left the ending as a cliffhanger because I want the audience to decide what they would do in that situation.

Teacher's comments: An effective piece of writing that explores with expressive language and imagery a complex idea. The structure accords with the emotional conflict and the language suits the purpose. The ending works as it doesn't resolve or conclude emphatically.
Yes, constructive criticism ... I can get a better mark by ... eh well. Hardly matters now anyway.

Well, anyway, here goes:

People all around me, talking, jostling, laughing. I force my way through the wall of sweaty bodies. The obligatory "sorry, excuse me," the grimace of a smile. Primitive, empty gestures.
The floor of the lockerbay is encrusted with dust and old gum, but I sit down anyway. I can't get any more dirty than I already feel. I shuffle through the pile of books and grab the ones I need. They weigh me down and bite into my tender forearm. I hate them. One day I will tear them into a million pieces and throw them in the river.
One day, I will be free.

It echoes through my mind. Her voice. She tells me a joke and I laugh. She is killing me slowly, and she doesn't even know it.
I feel the teacher's eyes on the side of my head. I look up slowly, pull on the mask, smile. Yes, everything is fine. She loses interest and turns away. She has a mole on her neck.
There are words on the paper; there must be, I can see them. I glare at them, demanding meaning, but there is none
they are just lines on paper.
The only words I understand are hers.

"Hey hey Allie!" she enfolds me in her gentle arms. "How's life?"
I grin broadly, and that is answer enough. Our footsteps squelch slightly on the damp grass.
"I had my first driving lesson last night. I nearly crashed the car! I thought my instructor was going to have a heart attack! He pulled up on the hand break so hard." She lunged for an imaginary brake. as we laughed a tree shook itself on us, a hundred glittering dewdrops landed in our hair, and we laughed all the harder.

It's night now. My black window sucks the heat from me, almost hungrily. I stare at the blue screen of my computer. I open Messenger and she is there: //RoxY * cH!q\\ - online. I click on it and the window opens.
Amy, I type. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just ... didn't know what to do.
Amy, I type, I love you.
It's alright, the response flashes. I understand. I love you, Allie.
My wold is made of electric tingles. They taste like fear on my tongue. I want to taste them forever.
I sit back. The computer screen still shines clinical blue. There is no open window. The messenger icon is mocking me.
I could never open the window.
I can never tell her how I feel.
I am a coward.
Outside, a tree bashes gently against my window.

They stare at me. I wonder if they know. I can feel their disgust already. But no, they are just waiting for a reply. I mutter something and try to pay attention. I laugh when they say something funny. I say something that sounds insightful. I wish I could see her. I feel scared.

"Allie! Hey!" Her voice floods my chest with twinkles. She pulls me to her soft breast. We talk of small things. She makes me laugh. She always makes me laugh. The sun hits her face and she is so beautiful it aches.
"I went out with Benjy on the weekend." Her face is as red as the blood welling in my throat.
"Do you like him?" I ask. My world doesn't tremble as my world does. I always was a good actor.
"Yeah," she says. "I like him"

I don't know why I came here. The wind is icy cold against my cheeks. The water is dirty brown, swollen with the recent rains.
How can I like her?
I'm not meant to like her.
I can't like her.
I can't breathe.
They'll know. They'll find out. I can't keep acting forever.
Something is tearing at my insides. I'm bleeding. I look down but all I see is the water. Swirling, uncaring, welcoming.
I can hear their voices now. I can see their eyes. They do not understand. They cannot. Amy is shocked. Her eyes are beautiful. They hate me.
The wind whispers through my hair.
Caressing.
They never need to know.
I look down at the river.
The trees are nodding their approval.

Yesterday I wanted to write. Today, I don't. I don't want to write about the pain in the world. I don't want you to see my hands shaking; why should they even care? When I close my eyes I see blood leaking, red blood on sand, the world awash with its own bloodied tears. Every second someone is dying, people are crying and I hear them when I tilt my head, but I don't want to hear them anymore.
I sit on the bus and she slowly breaks down. The edifice trembles. There is so much pain in this world, and there is too much pain for me to bear. I shatter, slowly. Piece by piece I fall away. I cannot stand anymore. Everything has come back to me, and it has torn at me, and left me nothing. How can I live with everything I have lost?
Tell me that.
Tell me how I can live when everyday people scream and weep in fear, when they feel their hearts ripped from their chests as they see him one last time - he's still warm. How can he still be warm?
I always imagined ...
No!
I amagine too much!
What I imagine is painted across my little world, eating at me ...
When every day they take a knife and pull it across their wrists, lying in the bath. They pull it down the vein, not across, so they will bleed too quickly and no-one can save them now. Save? Stupid word. You cannot pull someone away from the blissful dark eternity into tortured, broken life and call it "saved".
And on and on my brain ticks on, never ceasing unrelenting tick tick tick
I see blood
I feel blood rushing through my veins
I tase blood and I taste tears and I taste shame

How can I tell you how I feel? And yet I must, or it will sit inside and slowly choke me, silently suffocating my will, clouding life with endless darkened coridoors.

Hold me. I'm afraid.

Time goes so fast now. It races, flows, rushes, and I am the sodden detritus stuck on the bottom of the river ...
Talk to me.
Laugh with me.
Hold me.
Please don't leave me.
I need you now.
The cuts on my hand are healing. I hope they will leave a scar and I don't want to say that I know why I did it.
I stand on the bridge and the water is a long way down.
Why is it so hard to say "I love you"?
Please, don't. I don't want you to die. I love you, and I would miss you too much to bear...
Words to save a drowning soul.
Am I drowning?
Drowning in myself.
Every thought is rushing through my head. Rushing through and leaving; and now I am empty. A hollow shell. Eviscerated. I wonder if I echo?
Blood and tendons and bone. How do I feel? What am I? I watch my finger and it moves and I don't know why. I don't control it anymore. My mind
is empty.
SUUU-WIE!!
I hear them calling through the cinema
my disgust pains me

I am happy. The trees are green. I say something and they smile and I am happy.
Advertisements and graffiti crowd the walls
Buy our product
I was here

Do I exist too?

I hear his words and I wish that I could say them, and then I think, I wish I didn't care.
I think, words mean nothing.
I think too much.

I can hear a door slam and somehow I don't care.

Why does my life mean nothing?
They told me I could be whatever I wanted
What if I don't know what I want anymore?
Can I be an "I don't know"?
I think I am.
I think I win.
I think that I am smiling and I don't know why.
I need to breathe.
If I close my eyes, can I have more time?
If I lie down, will the world stop spinning?

It keeps on spinning. Forever
and ever
and ever
and I don't
One day it will stop
Everything must end, they tell me

Everything must end

I want to scream

I want to laugh

I want to feel

I scream too much
I laugh too much
I feel too much
I write too much and nothing matters anyway
I hate, I love, I live, I die, I can count to a million, does that mean I'm special?
A cold breeze rustles through my hair and I open my eyes again

And the world keeps on spinning.